The Curse of the Stripy Socks
by BabyStretch
Summary: Everyone's wearing stripy socks. I wonder why? The marauders find out that Remus is a werewolf. James' PoV. Oneshot.


The Curse of the Stripy Socks

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Warning: Maraudery nonsense.**

**Disclaimer: I own stripy socks. They're knee-length ones, and they look wonderful underneath my transparent plastic boots.**

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Peter had somehow managed to move silently and unnoticed until he was standing beside me. I jumped, almost banging my head on a nearby telescope, and looked at him, startled.

"How'd you manage to do that?"

He looked around. "Do what?"

I shook my head. "Never mind."

He had the inborn talent of moving silently that all pranksters needed, although Sirius had been forced to learn it from weeks of being caught and an incredible detention record, even though he was only in his first year.

"I was reading something today," Peter muttered as we both shivered and pretended to be staring at the sky. Astronomy was so cold and boring. What an awful subject.

"Really? I thought only Remus read."

Peter ignored my sarcastic comment. "This book," I resisted the temptation to gasp, 'A book!' "was about dangerous creatures and stuff. It said that you need to watch out for anything that's wearing stripy socks."

"Oh?" I tried to sound like I didn't really believe him. Sirius frequently told me that I was too gullible.

"Yeah."

"Well, don't tell Sirius!" I laughed. "He might take it personally!"

Peter grinned. "_We _all know Sirius is dangerous. It's just Sirius that doesn't!"

The class was starting to leave the Astronomy Tower. _Finally!_ Peter and I picked up our things and hurried after everyone else.

* * *

For the rest of that week, I was on the lookout for anything wearing stripy socks. I didn't know why, but Peter's assertion about dangerous socks seemed plausible, somehow.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, we were doing Boggarts. As a class. No-one except me seemed to notice that every single person's Boggart was wearing stripy socks. Weird.

And when I mentioned it to Peter, he just frowned. "I know. It's odd."

* * *

That night, Peter, Sirius, Remus and I decided to explore the Forbidden Forest. Not that we hadn't been in it before, but we wanted to see what it looked like by moonlight. Full moons were out of the question, since anything could be in there, from mooncalves (Sirius' unlikely suggestion) to werewolves (Remus').

However, by the light of the gibbous moon (what a great word), we wandered through the forest.

It took Sirius less than five minutes to get us lost, and Remus over three hours to find the way out for us. He was incredibly useful that way. We passed Hagrid as we sneaked up to the castle under cover of the Invisibility Cloak I had got from my dad that Christmas. Peter told me later that he, too, was wearing stripy socks – purple and green – backing up Sirius' theory that Hagrid was at least half-giant.

Inside the castle, we had to keep four boys under a Cloak made for one man without making a sound or revealing that there was anyone there. It was actually easier than it sounds, until we walked into McGonagall.

She immediately reached out, and we shrunk back fearfully as Peter let loose a very Peeves-like cackle. Sirius' knowledge of the castle's secret passageways became very useful as she lunged blindly past us. And then she was gone, and we were running to Gryffindor Tower before someone found us or we broke into hysterical laughter.

We collapsed in the Common Room, and Remus' impersonation of the Transfiguration teacher's mad grasping at the air had us rolling around on the floor for ages.

The next day a tired and irate Transfiguration teacher was sighted wearing… go on, guess… that's right: baby blue and pale pink striped socks.

Two days later, in Defence Against the Dark Arts again, we were shown a picture of the Common Welsh Green dragon. Well, of course, we knew that dragons were – and are – dangerous, but, even so, we still looked for the telltale pattern of pale green and dark green on the feet of the creature. It was there.

Peter and I kept seeing stripy socks in the strangest of places, and soon I had nightmares about giant socks smothering me or strangling me, or even just knocking me out with their fumes. Mind you, after I woke up, I realised that Sirius had been waving his socks under my nose. Needless to say, I wasn't very pleased.

I almost fainted when I saw that Remus – harmless, peaceful Remus – was wearing stripy socks of his own. They were red, orange and yellow. Nice colours.

Peter hadn't noticed when I asked him later. He didn't have any idea why Remus might be wearing them either. When Remus vanished three days later, apparently because he wanted to see his parents before they went on a two month holiday, I came up with a few ideas of my own.

One month later, Remus vanished again, this time because it was his brother's birthday.

"I didn't think he had a brother," Sirius muttered as we watched Remus leave the Gryffindor Common Room.

Neither did I, and I certainly wasn't convinced that his parents would go on holiday when it was their son's birthday. And Remus himself didn't look very well when he reappeared in Potions the next week.

I was paired up with him, because, together, we could more or less prevent a Potion from exploding, and Peter's talent was needed to cancel out what we called Sirius' 'anti-talent'.

By this time I had very strong suspicions as to the reason for Remus' monthly disappearances. I noted that he passed me the Wolfsbane to cut up with a silver knife while he lit the fire under the cauldron. That was subtle. Very subtle.

Later that evening, Peter brought up the subject of pocket money. "I get six sickles and twenty-three knuts, the equivalent to two muggle pounds, I think."

I confessed to my not-so-meagre seven sickles, and Sirius proudly declared that he got _twelve _sickles _every single week!_ It wasn't fair.

"What about you, Remus?" Peter asked.

I wasn't sure what he'd say, since I was sure I'd read somewhere that, if my suspicions were correct, he was allergic to silver.

"A Galleon every month. Mum and Dad want me to learn how to make my money last."

Sirius gaped. "But that's only…" He trailed off, arithmetic not being taught in wizarding schools and so not one of his strong points.

Remus finished his sentence for him. "Just over four sickles a week. Less than half what you get, Sirius." He smiled slightly. "Not everyone's as privileged as you are."

Subtle, again, distracting Sirius from the true story by making him feel guilty. And he changed the subject very easily, asking Peter for help with the Potions essay Slughorn had set us.

* * *

Another month later, I was sure I was right.

I had made up a checklist in which every single box was ticked. Apart from that, Remus had been more and more tense and snappy as the full moon approached and had visibly flinched when Sirius joked about it being 'that time of the month'. Then he'd jumped down Sirius' throat.

When Remus had vanished to the hospital wing – this time his mother was ill, apparently, but I knew the truth now – I sought out Sirius and Peter. What they were doing in that passage to Hogsmeade I don't know, nor do I want to.

"Sirius? Peter? I've got something I want to talk to you two about."

Peter frowned. "Maybe we should wait until Remus is feeling better, so you don't have to say it twice."

"It's about Remus."

* * *

"Hi Remus!"

Remus looked uneasily from the overly-cheerful Sirius, to Peter, to me. He was clearly thinking, 'How did they know where to find me?' "Hi guys."

I decided not to prolong the wait and got straight to the point. "We know you're a werewolf."

Remus slumped against his pillows, a look of complete and utter despair swamping his face. "All right. I'll ask Dumbledore if I can be moved or something. I mean, I understand – most people feel like you do," he babbled. "Just, don't tell anyone. _Please._ I'm sure Dumbledore can come up with a good reason for me moving dormitory or school. Or something. And… I…" he trailed off at the incredulous look on Sirius' face. "What?" he asked, cautiously.

"You're not going anywhere," Sirius said, severely.

Remus looked very scared, his amber eyes flickering around for a friendly face, or so it seemed. "Why not?" It was barely a whisper.

Peter laughed, and I'm not surprised. Remus was being so ridiculous!

"Come off it! You know why!"

Remus looked confused and even more frightened than before, so Peter elaborated.

"We _are_ your friends, you know."

Remus gasped, and I felt incredibly sorry for him. He really thought we would stop being his friends?

"Really? _Still?_" Remus' expression was one of studied un-hopefulness, as though it was too good to be true.

"Yes," said Peter and Sirius forcefully.

Finally, our werewolf friend relaxed. "OK," he smiled. "How did you guess, anyway?"

Sirius and Peter both looked at me.

"Your socks," I replied simply.

Remus' eyes widened. "_What?_"

**

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AN: Well? I think Hagrid lives by the Stripy Sock Principle, don't you? I mean, the Skrewts didn't have stripy socks, and Norbert and Fluffy didn't… or Grawp, for that matter… Meaning the the Basilisk wasn't dangerous either. Hmm. That doesn't work.Great things, sentence fragments.**

**Review, please. Thankyou!**


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